Up the Tree

  • Superman's Undies

    Somewhere in the haze before I go to sleep, when my eyes are closed, I have strange thoughts. Sometimes as simple as questioning what’s in the boneless spareribs I had for dinner, but sometimes I have a full-fledged philosophical epiphany.

    Last night I wondered in order for super-heroes to wear their flashy spandex body suits, they would require hours of design, approval, and manufacture to get to the final product. I wish I could be a super-hero uniform designer. Sure it’s a highly specialized field and you would probably not be able to show other outfits in your portfolio to other people.

    I mean you couldn’t tell Dr. Octopus you had worked on Spider-Man’s outfit! He would definitely torture you to see Spidey’s billing information. Yes, you would need to keep it private… I wonder if you could design a villain’s outfit? Would he pay you, or just kill you. I love design and all, but not enough to die.

    How could you advertise?

    The Super-Villains would find you and… gulp… POW! On second thought I bet there is a super-hero designer who designs super-hero outfits. DESIGNOMAN! He (or She) could defend himself against the likes of super villains.

    “No Catwoman, you know I can’t give out that sort of information about my clients. Now is it going to be the black spandex, or would you like to try pink? Pink is the new black you know.”

    Ah well, it was worth a thought.

  • These are the wasted hours
    between excitement and romance
    between take out and gumption
    by yourself
    alone
    wishing your friends had more stamina
    and LA weren’t so far away
    these are the misspent days of my youth
    that I wished I had spent
    better spent
    and unlike the past
    used to intervene
    in cigarettes and booze
    I am the roadie
    for my own life

  • The following post uses strong language not suitable for some children, please discontinue reading if you are offended by strong language.

    *Now, don’t get me wrong.*

    I feel for the prisoners of the US Military that were abused, tortured, humiliated, raped, and any other outrageous act that was inflicted upon them. That my country’s military performed those acts is awful and should be punished to the fullest extent of international law.

    HOW-EVER!

    Let us not forget the thousands of people who have been killed, maimed, or terrified by a war that should NEVER HAVE HAPPENED! Let us not forget that we shouldn’t be there in the first place, let alone perform those horrible acts on prisoners.

    * How about the bombs we dropped on innocent people?
    * How about the military casualties to find nukes that weren’t there?
    * How about the chemical weapons? I thought you said they had chemical weapons vans? Where the hell are they?
    * How about the soldiers who die day after day to restore peace to a country that we have absolutely no business being in? Who don’t want us to be there?
    * How about Osama? Where’s all that “evidence” that he was involved with Saddam? Was there any?
    * How about this fictional war created to grab some oil?

    Why don’t we _not only_ look at the horrible acts of some confused military personnel, but also at a groundless war? If there’s one thing I know about the military is soldiers don’t often jump unless instructed and lots of soldiers don’t jump unless ordered. Where does the accountability end? The soldiers? The Generals? Rumsfeld?

    bq. �I call on all governments to join with the United States and the community of law-abiding nations in prohibiting, investigating, and prosecuting all acts of torture,� -George Bush

    Or, how about the maniacal president that started it. This war should never have happened! We went in to stop atrocities to people and instead we committed atrocities? No? Really? What do you think happens in wars? You think we went to iraq to give out puppies and lollypops? Wars are not generally a great place to find peace. Sure there was World War II and the Nazis, and somebody had to stop them, but they went in to other countries and killed and tortured innocent people because of their religion!

    Wait, that sounds eerily familiar to me.

    Reasons for my outrage
    “Chain of Command”:www.newyorker.com/fact/content/?040517fa_fact2
    “HEARTS AND MINDS”:http://www.newyorker.com/talk/content/?040517ta_talk_remnick
    “The Price of Arrogance”:msnbc.msn.com/id/4933882
    “Rape Rooms: A Chronology”:slate.msn.com/id/2100014

  • Oh, joy. Spring again! Now it’s undeniable. The flowers are falling from the tees and leaves are sprouting all over. It makes it hard to believe two months ago there were none.

    It is the season for better spirits, resolutions, new projects, and of course _bitching BBQ parties._ The unfortunate part about urban living, is that there just aren’t many opportunities to BBQ… in New York at least. It’s the freedom of firing of the range and not having to worry about anything other than the plates you brought out the meat on… and I do mean meat people. Although I feel for our vegetarians in the audience, I don’t care what you marinate tofu in, it’s still tofu.

    So, if you have access, please fire up the grill, put on your “Kiss the chef” apron and enjoy some animal flesh (or tofu if that’s what you prefer) for us who are without.

  • I have tried to post half a dozen times, but it seems that this brain of mine is just too fractured to put cohesive thoughts down. The process of creating a narrative gone, I now look to other methods of communication. Following in the footsteps of one of my favorite people in the whole wide world I will publish some of my poetry until my head returns to a place that is suitable for public consumption.

    All of This

    You are, she said, all of this
    it was apparent from her hips
    statements
    meant more to her
    than me

    All of this?
    poetic innuendo
    for jackals with kangols
    with
    what
    hook
    line
    and
    sinker
    did           she
      expect to
         catch

    with no bait

    the buzz of the silence between us
    a sweater too thickly knit
    told of more statements

    You are, she said, all of this

    again expecting change
    in my demeanor
    my heart
    or darting eyes
    a second marinade to give strength to the last
    bought with inflection
    paved with cinematic urgency

    but holes had been hued
    from singular impulses
    and water could not be kept in this bucket
    without more buckets

    the time
    this place
    had past
    between these walls
    which no longer stood
    but were held